This - I guess it's a blog? I am loathe to use the word but there really isn't any other, I suppose. *shudder* - blog shall be much less linear and organized than my last, and without a real point. Oh well. It's almost spring break, and I need to WRITE SOMETHING or I will explode. And Avalon guts are hard to clean. There isn't enough club soda in all the world for that mess.
So, yesterday. Yesterday was an odd day overall. Or...no. Let's go back to Monday. This isn't a diary, so I'm not giving you a synopsis of my week or a play-by-play of my life, since I'm not nearly exciting enough to warrant that kind of attention, but it's significant to my point, really.
Anyway. Monday. I was hanging outside with a friend as he took a smoke break from our class (standing upwind, of course, so I wouldn't start lecturing him on costly suicide) and watching people as they walked by. I saw a young man in gym wear, athletic type. His head was down, his eyes on the ground. He walked like he didn't want to talk to anyone. Ever. I saw a girl, not built like Barbi, but very pretty. She too avoided eye contact. And as I fell into my socially-frowned-upon tendency to stare, gradually ignoring my chimney-like buddy, I realized that people's fears show on their faces, in the way they move. That runner feared failure and being subpar. That poor girl feared rejection and being alone. And so it was for every face that passed, each expressing their fears because they tried so hard to hide them. I wonder what fears show in my face.
Perhaps I place far too much emphasis on intuition. But, the way I see it, we have intuition for a reason, no? As long as we pay attention to it without granting it control, it serves a useful purpose. Just like fear. Fear is necessary: it keeps us attentive, aware, and, in many cases, alive. It is not a thing to be conquered into oblivion as so many think, but tamed and harnessed to usefulness. It is a part of being human, but it need not be all there is to being human.
Fear is an interesting thing. It does odd things to people, causes them to act in ways they wouldn't normally. And I'm not talking about moments of terror that alter lives forever, though those are also focal points of change. Everyday fears that press continually upon the soul - they mold us, if we let them.
My mother has a favorite quote about fear. It was said by a mystic scholar (no, I don't know how that works, don't ask me) named Rumi, and it reads, "Our greatest fears are like dragons, guarding our greatest treasures." It took me years to understand what that means. It's along the same lines as another of my mom's mantras, "Our greatest strengths are also often our greatest weaknesses." That one was also cryptic to me growing up, but I think I get them now.
But how to explain them? Hm. As usual, someone else said it better than I possibly can: T.H. White, in "The Once and Future King," wrote on how much Lancelot loathed himself for his weaknesses. "He saw in himself," White wrote, "cruelty and cowardice - the things that made him brave and kind." Our fears influence us, steer us, and alter us accordingly. We react to our fears by acting opposite of how we would think to act under their influence.
Aristotle said that we value in our friends the attributes we desire most in ourselves. So, the facets of your friends that you love most are the characteristics you desire to grow in you. We're attracted to those whom we admire, because we want to emulate certain aspects of them ourselves.
So why do people fear so intensely things that shouldn't matter? Why did that girl worry about rejection based on physicality? Aren't there more important things in life that that? And that guy, fearing that he won't live up the the expectations of others? I wish people were more secure in themselves. I wish people examined their lives more deeply, and decided what was important to them. I wish I did that more often.
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I saw a reverse emo today on the bus. His pale white hair fell into his eyes in the same nonconformist way that all other people wishing to express teenage angst style theirs. His white shell necklace was bright on his tan skin, and his iridescent white-painted nails glittered in the sunlight. His khakis, though baggy and frayed, conveyed a general respect for the establishment, as did his black shoes that were accented by linear lines of white-out. It was like viewing a film negative of a real emo. I felt like taking notes, but then I realized he might stab me if I tried to make him an anthropology case study.
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So, I spoke about Monday. Now for yesterday, Wednesday. I woke up exhausted after a decent amount of sleep - more than usual, for me - and spent my morning in a funk. Then afternoon came, and I had nowhere special to be for about 40 minutes, so I took a walk, hoping the sunlight and air would make me feel better. I walked slowly, meandering, with nowhere particular to be and no real directive. It was warm, and the breeze was perfect, and I just went where my feet took me (I eventually ended up by the anthropology department, but the fact that I can walk all the way across campus without noticing is another problem for another discussion). I began to walk using senses other than sight, just for the hell of it.
Now, let me explain that. I'm not entirely crazy: when I worked in a cave all last summer, I grew very accustomed to not using my eyes. If you walk with your eyes closed (don't trip) you'll begin to notice how the air around you changes on your skin, and direct yourself with sound and smell rather than sight. It's a pretty neat experience.
Anyway, I was walking and smelling and hearing and just feeling the air and I began to notice how people experience one another. You can identify gender by the sound of a step, and as people walk by, you smell them after you have seen them, because their scent wafts out behind. It's very interesting to wander, greet people as they go by, and then place with them a smell moments later. I could smell Chinese food, cologne, perfume, diesel, cut grass for some strange reason since everything's dead right now, cig smoke - if you smell long enough to can begin to recognize different brands, though I don't really recommend it - and hear tones of voices and conversations and music in cars and different kinds of engines and wind and birds and the angry whine of that little golf cart that speeds haphazardly around campus with some sort of indefinable purpose...but the smell of rain was almost overpowering. I love the smell of rain. It's possibly the best smell in the history of the world. I walked about half a mile, just smelling the coming rain, and then the first droplets fell. There's nothing else in all of existence like rain. I took off my hat as students fled indoors and just experienced the cleansing of the world, beautiful and primal and pure.
And...I am starting to sound like a down-and-out poet. I should really stop. Sorry that this doesn't have a point. My brain's been a little helter-skelter lately. Doubtless I'll have something purposeful to say over the weekend, as I have nothing to do but think and write over spring break, which pleases me. Happy weekend! Carpe diem, and all such well-wishes.
-Avalon
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